


A Long Road Home

by awildlokiappears



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Wade Wilson, Bucky needs a hug, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Heartache 101, M/M, Nick Fury is a Good Bro, Pheels, References to child/spousal abuse, Sassy Barista Tony, Slow Burn, puppy love!, therapy au, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8562694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: Everyone has that one thing that calls to them; for some, it's to serve the nation, and for others, it's to serve the people. Clint, Natasha, Sam, and Sharon served proudly for multiple tours until one by one, they decided they wanted to start over with a chance to help people rather than to hurt...





	1. Chapter 1

Tugging open the curtains every morning, even if the rising sun did blind him momentarily, was the best part of Clint's day. He blinked away the ever-present glowy orbs, and turned back to his breakfast, a truly fantastic pair of blackberry turnovers and his favorite purple mug full of piping hot coffee, going over his paperwork as he ate neatly over the paper towel he'd put down. They'd come a long way from the VA...no longer was it just Clint, Sam, Sharon, and Tasha struggling to help vets and their families through the many mental issues and problems they all faced.

No longer did they pool their pennies together for the tiny apartment they'd all shared, no longer did they worry about food and rent and their own barely concealed issues. The four of them had all come back from the Iraqi and Afghan wars with scars, inside and out, and realized that their skills and their understanding had allowed them all the opportunity to help their fellow veterans. Sam and Tasha had actually completed the counseling courses prior to their last deploys; Clint and Sharon followed suit.

Five, six tours apiece, and they came home to their apartments let out to other people, their storage lockers rifled through, and their families...well. Sharon's mother and brothers had been kind enough to help her, but they just didn't have the funds to take care of everyone else. Sam's parents were gone and buried, as were Clint's; Natasha's were far away in Moscow, and certainly didn't care for a daughter who wasn't loyal to the Mother Land.

They'd also come home with the nightmares, the grief, and the rage; in the dark of the night, when no one else cared, they talked one another down, drowned their sorrows and their worries and hopes and dreams all in cheap beer and cheaper whiskey. And they ranted...they listened. They grieved and forgave and finally slept a little sounder...and that's when the four of them had met Pepper.

Now, normally the CEO of any company would have had them suspicious; the fierce empress of Stark Industries was hardly a person they trusted. After all, it was SI that had sold so many weapons to the Ten Rings and other groups...But she'd asked to talk. Politely, kindly...and with a compassion that they hadn't seen before. So, once again they listened...and by the time that year was up, they were no longer four broken people trying to help others.

They were a company. They had a Name...and they had friends. Pepper had stepped down from SI to create with the four of them, and a kind, compassionate former scientist, Dr. Banner, The Rescue Foundation. As it turned out, she had a Master's in psychology and counseling, and so did Bruce, and they happily shared their knowledge with their new coworkers. And now, five years later...well.

Clint stretched his shoulders, fed the few crumbs he'd left to his tiny row of cacti, drained his coffee mug, and stood up, taking the wax paper wrappers and paper towel to the kitchen. There, he sorted them into the recycling, refilled his mug, and wandered back to his office, taking a moment to spritz his babies...and check the larger watering bulb for his enormous aloe plant. As he slid the dark blue glass back into the soil, there came a small scratch at his door, signaling Lucky's return from the small sandbox he used when he was outside, and he grinned.

"Hey boy, hungry?" The handsome, scarred older Golden Retriever boofed happily and Clint filled up his bowl, laughing as the one-eyed dog pressed against his legs, trying to push Clint over. "Y'know, this usually works better when you're not crowding me."  
  
"But then he wouldn't have anything to whine about. Literally." Clint grinned up at Tasha as he finally let Luck get to his breakfast, waving her in and over to one of his comfy chairs by the window.

"Yeah yeah, I make my dog lead such a harsh life. Walks every day, I make him chase a stick...a stick, Tasha. The horror." She held her serious face for a moment, then cracked up, chuckling as she flopped in the big soft cushion. He joined her in the opposite one, and stretched out his legs, grunting as his bad knee popped. She settled so that he could clearly see her face, and with a sigh of relief, he popped out his aids, massaging around the shell of his ear.

He never was sure if it was a sensitivity thing, or just the weight of them, but he just didn't like wearing them all day long. During sessions, sure; he'd keep 'em in for hours if his clients needed him to. But if he could...well. At least everyone at work knew rudimentary sign, and Tasha could translate easily anything else. But she didn't have to sign today; all he had to do was read her lips.

"You're such a horrible dog-dad, Barton." He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, then smiled faintly. "But better you than the tracksuit mafia."

"...y'know, I'm still ashamed that that's what they called themselves. I thought it was a joke."

"Me too. In any case, they're NYPD's problem now. So, you mentioned a new patient for today earlier when Hill dropped of breakfast; do you know anything yet?"

"Not yet; the guy who made the appointment is not the guy I'll be seeing, though, so there's that much. I'm just...well, leery."

"And rightfully so; if his friend doesn't take kindly to being essentially forced into therapy, well, that's a hell of a block to get past. Want some back-up?" He smiled a little, but shook his head.

"No, but thank you. At least Darcy was the one who took the call; she got me all the info she could from this...Steve? Steve Rogers, it looks like."

"Hmm...name's vaguely familiar, but it's not ringing any bells. He's not like Danvers or Rhodey."

"Right, he's not high enough up in the service to have garnered that sort of fame. He is a Captain, though, so that's something. And the guy in question is a James Barnes; Sergeant, looks like. Goes by 'Bucky', but of course, I'm not starting off with that."

"Of course. You're a professional, dammit." He laughed a little, and closed off the file again; Natasha being Natasha, she wouldn't even blink at it. Patient confidentiality was a big thing here, but he trusted her with his life; hell, he'd done it a dozen times so far, and she wouldn't breathe a word of who he saw to anyone.

"And you are too. Tell you what; let Sam and Sharon know I've got a new patient, just in case it turns out that he needs them more than he needs you or I. That way, we can move things around and get him the best help we can."

"You got it; want me to draw Bruce in on a loop, for the relationship thing? I mean, if his buddy is making this appointment for him, that could be stressful..."

"Good idea, yeah, please. And I'll keep Lucky here for now; if a therapy dog is too stressful, I'll send him down to Logan and Wanda."

"You might do that anyway later; you remember that sweet little girl with the long dark hair and the missing tooth from a week ago?"

"Aw, yeah, Scott's little one?"

"That's the one. She's back in today; something bad happened, Scott and Hope are super worried about her because it was at school, and she won't talk at all. So they're taking her to Wanda..."

"What time?"

"Four, I think."

"Well, Mr. Barnes doesn't show till eleven, so you bet I can send him down after. Want me to grab Liho too?"

"Nah, I'll drop her off when I go run out to see Peggy with Sharon."

"Sounds good then. Is Darcy up at the desk today?"

"Yup. And I'm so proud; she finally decided on a major."

"....she picked children's psychology, didn't she?"

"And specializing in anxiety and learning disorders."

"Good for her! I'll remember to drop by and hug the crap out of her."

"I'm grabbing a card from all of us."

"Cool, just throw it at me, I'll sign it."

"Deal...so...how are you and Phil?" He paused, then sighed a little.

"Well, I hope you haven't gotten your hopes pegged on a gay wedding all in purple and blue; it's not happening. We're...let's just say that there's no chance we'll get back together. We're still awesome friends, but...well...things had been changing, and then they changed big time, and...we're not those same guys anymore."

She nodded, looking rather sad, and Clint just smiled a little bit. "I do still love him. Believe me, I do. But...well, we both wanted different things. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"No, there is not. And...I'm proud of you, Clint. I'm proud that you're finally accepting that you didn't do anything wrong."

"Mm, it did take a long time." She nodded, glancing at the clock, and he grabbed his aids, slipping them back on. "Time?"

"Yeah, you've got about twenty minutes." She gave him a quick little peck on the cheek, ruffled Lucky's shaggy coat, then slipped out the door, and Clint made himself ready, fluffing the couch pillows and draping the enormous chunky-knit blanket Darcy had made last Christmas just so. His office looked like any of the artsy, clean cut little studios you could find around town, save for the fact that all the furniture was rough, beat-up, and found on the side of the road, the books were a bit haphazard and well loved...and he kicked the rest of the dog toys back into Lucky's basket, rolling his eyes at the mournful look he got.

"Don't look at me like that, you drag those poor things around the whole building without a second thought."

"...Well, I think you'll be a good fit for us, if you talk to your dog like that." Clint glanced up at the amused male voice, and two tall, strong men entered his quiet space...followed by the largest wolf-dog he'd ever seen in his life. He felt a little more of his apprehension spike, and Lucky pressed against the backs of his legs, whining softly....when the darker-haired man, the one Clint now realized had a very high-tech prosthetic arm, murmured something in...not Russian, closer to Hungarian. The aloof-looking hybrid settled immediately on his haunches, not panting, but watching everything with a calm serenity.

"...Well, I hope I can help, but I'd like a little more warning, next time. It's not wise to mix therapy dogs that don't know each other." The blond man had the good grace to wince, and Clint knew that had to be Rogers; the other man just glared at him, fists on his hips.

"I, uh....yeah, I didn't even think about that. And I knew you had your therapy dog..." Clint softened his rebuke with a smile, and gave Lucky the nonverbal command he loved best, which was 'Go to Darcy', and watched his happy mutt wag his tail out the door before he shut it.

"It's alright. He's got another job this afternoon anyway, so if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like him to be happy and relaxed for it." They both nodded, and Clint waved them both to the couch, settling in his chair across from them. Rogers sat down with ease; Barnes was clearly a little nervous still, and it showed in how gingerly he sat. The wolf-dog immediately wrapped around his feet, enormous gray eyes watching Clint as he guarded his master.

"...Well then, I think it's time for some introductions. Captain Rogers, you were the one who set this up originally, right?"

"Yes. I..Bucky wasn't making any headway with the normal therapist at the VA, and I'd heard that you guys were uniquely skilled." He weathered another glare from Barnes, and Clint sighed.

"I appreciate your concern, but this isn't gonna work if you're here. Out, skedaddle, vamoose, sayonara, auf wiedersehen, ciao." Clint pointed his thumb at the door, and Barnes burst out laughing at the absolutely annoyed look on Rogers' face.

"He got ya, Stevie! Go on, get the hell out of here and go sketch that handsome barista down at the coffee shop you love so much; I've got Tank, and I'm pretty sure this guy isn't gonna hand me a set of blocks and tell me to 'rebuild my foundations'." The tension was finally broken, Rogers grumbled and stalked out, and Clint grinned at Barnes.

"It's nice to have a friend that cares, but that's gotta be so goddamn annoying."

"You have no idea. Well...in part, he's right; I wasn't making headway at the other therapist, but he was treating me like I was a child. I was looking at you guys, I just hadn't had the time to make an appointment...and then I turn around and he's dragging me out the damn door. He's just lucky that Tank follows me everywhere, and likes him enough not to bite; I nearly decked him when he told me 'I was getting better help' without a chance to prep myself." Clint groaned in sympathy, and offered him a hand.

"I am so, so sorry. I'm Clint Barton, but please, call me Clint. Hey you, Hawkguy, and Lucky's terrible father work well too." He chuckled a little, his whole demeanor relaxing, and brought a hand down to rub Tank's ears as he shook Clint's, grinning when the wolf unbent enough to let his tongue loll.

"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. Also, any form of 'asshole' in a Slavic language." Clint just grinned.

"I think this is gonna work out pretty well. So, tell me about how you got Tank..."

\---

Looking back over his notes later that night, Clint marveled at how easily Bucky had relaxed in his office. Some of that was the fact that Clint actually worked to get to know him, rather than just diagnose him and move on; they spent a solid hour talking purely about sniper rifles and dogs, then the next two working through some basic sleep and anxiety exercises that would help with both the nightmares and the panic attacks.

Clint didn't even bother with a prescription; Bucky was uneasy about them mixing with his anti-rejection meds, and they'd talked about the replacement kidney he'd received after his first two had been too damaged by shrapnel. That IED had cost him both kidneys, his spleen, half his liver, and his left arm up to the shoulder, and Clint decided quite easily that they would go about this the non-medical way first, and talk to his doctor later if that didn't work.

Bucky had been so relieved...from there, they settled back into casual talk about college football and the local baseball teams, Tank up on the couch and half in his lap. Clint hadn't minded in the slightest; he'd migrated over himself, one big hand gently stroking Tank's ruff, which he bore with considerable patience. And he'd listened, letting Bucky carry the conversation in a way that he suspected he only did when he was alone...and since he was currently staying with Steve, well...

"...Y'know, I'd really like to get a place of my own, but I got no idea where to start..." Clint had smiled, and took that opportunity while he had it.

"Well, I could help with that, if you'd like a neutral party? You mentioned that even just grocery shopping with Steve could get anxiety-inducing when he tried to do too much at once, right?"

"Yeah...I mean, I don't mind him talking, I really don't, he's helped with my memory problems so much...but...Tank's too big to come in with us, and....people get....really, well, annoying."

"I completely understand. I tell ya what; you call me when you need to go get stuff, and we'll take Lucky. I've got his vest and everything, and he's just as highly trained as Tank." Bucky had actually beamed at that, and nodded.

"That...god, that helps so much. Do...you mind if we don't talk much?"

"Not at all. In fact, if you wanna do the talking, I can flip these off." He'd tapped his aids, grinning. "I can read lips perfectly fine, and that way you have that nice silence." Bucky had stared for a moment, and swallowed.

"...You'd make yourself that vulnerable? For me?"

"Yes. Quiet helps you think; well, I learned to make it help me too. When I was deafened as a kid, it would come and go, and I learned to work with the bad times when it came back. And when I lost it completely a few years ago, I discovered that I loved the silence, especially when I was in a safe place. I got Lucky for the bad days, when I couldn't wear my aids, and discovered what a treasure he really was; he'd been a full therapy and service dog before me."

"...Wow....that's...that means there's hope for me yet..." Clint had paused and rested a hand gently on his shoulder, urging him to look up.

"Hey. There's always hope, even when it seems like there's gonna be darkness and despair forever. You'll make it through this, I promise you. I'm not gonna stop till you tell me you truly don't need me anymore, alright?" Bucky then searched his eyes, and with a shy, happy smile, nodded.

"Thank you, Clint. I never knew how much I needed someone to just...understand."

"Believe me, Buck, I know exactly how you feel." He'd wished the guy farewell after that, setting up the next appointment with Darcy, getting his face washed by Tank in the process, and waving them both out the door, a grumpy looking Steve tailing behind them, and taken care of his other two appointments before calling it a day.

Now, he filed away his notes in the shiny new folder for Mr. James Barnes, and stretched, groaning a little as his shoulder cracked and popped, and lifted his nose up, catching a whiff of a truly delicious dinner being cooked. There came a slight scratching on his bedroom/home office door, and Lucky poked his head in, boffing softly.

"That time already, buddy? Alright, I'm on my way down." The dog vanished back downstairs, and Clint grabbed his aids, then levered himself out of the chair. He ambled down at a slower pace, putting each device in as he went, smiling as the sudden chatter became just that much louder...and paused before the bookshelf at the foot of the stairs. There was a happy meow, and Liho's familiar weight, claws retracted for a change, landed on his shoulders. He waited for her to settle, purring deeply against his neck, and made his way into the enormous open kitchen.

"Tasha, I found your not-cat." She rolled her eyes but gave the small black cat an ear scratch, while Sam chuckled and finished pulling apart the truly heavenly-looking rolls. Wanda was doling out stew into the set of mismatched bowls they owned, while Logan washed the dishes....and Clint raised an eyebrow, glancing around. "No Sharon tonight?"

"Nope, she's got a date." Sam's voice was full of knowing amusement and Clint just shook his head, settling at the kitchen island in his favorite chair and letting Liho jump from him to Tasha. She caught the cat and snuggled her close, running a hand from Liho's ears to her tail...and the purr was loud enough to fill the room.

Dinner was a quiet affair; it nearly always was anyway, in part because discussing clients was never wise, and they all usually had at least one intense session a day...but they could talk about the little things, like how Scott's daughter Cassie had pretty much purely talked to Lucky, and how Bucky had opened up with Clint after he'd tossed Steve out. Logan had had a teenager who was coming out of an abusive family, and he couldn't say much, except that he'd surprised her into laughing by pulling out every truly lame pun he knew.

And Sam...he was the quietest till the rest were done, and he sighed a little.

"...I had to refer my guy to in-patient care." There was a collective hush, and he took a deep breath. "So, I'll be going over to the psychiatric ward three times a week until they're sure that he won't try again."

"...You got it, Sam. Need us to take anyone?" Tasha's voice was soft, but so very gentle, and he gave her a thin, sad smile.

"No, but thank you. He's the only critical patient I've had for a while, and everyone else is doing quite well. I...I'm going first thing in the morning when the doctors clear me, and I'll probably put in extra sessions when he needs me." Logan just clasped his shoulder, brown eyes warm and sweet.

"Sam, you do what you need to. You let us handle the house, and your clients if you need that." The former pararescue smiled, leaning into the older man's hug, and relaxed, his eyes just a little more teary now.

"Thanks, everyone. I really appreciate this..." Clint just smiled and tossed a roll at him, grinning when Sam burst into laughter.

"C'mon, man, it's not like we're just gonna leave you hangin'! Tell you what, when I go and grab breakfast for us, I'll grab a couple extras for your guy, and you can take them in and give him a treat." Sam brightened up at that, and the rest of dinner carried on in peace, everyone relaxed and happy. Pepper and Bruce had their own place, but Logan and Wanda had joined the other four a few years back, filling up the last two rooms upstairs.

Logan paid his way in construction, same as Clint; they spent their free days working on finishing up the interior of the living room, the two guest bedrooms, and the library now. The kitchen, bedrooms, and meditation rooms had been finished first, as had all the bathrooms, and everyone let the two of them take their time, doing things right the first time through. Clint was certain they'd finish the living room this weekend, at least, and surveyed their handiwork, smiling to himself.

It was an odd way of living...or rather, most people would think it was. But...for every one here, it worked. None of them had a family, after all, except for Wanda's twin brother, Pietro (but he was dating Darcy and they'd shacked up ages ago), and it was just more comfortable to live together. Plus, the cost was pretty low, in no small part because of the retrofits they'd put in.

And as they all cleaned up, then migrated back upstairs to settle in for the night, Clint found himself and Lucky getting ready for bed, not even the lure of one of his favorite new novels enough to keep his eyes open. He stripped off his shirt, and jeans, and slid himself under the warm quilt, hardly even stirring when Lucky jumped up to settle at his feet...Before he knew it, dawn was peeking through the windows, and the dog was nosing his arm, leash dragging over the floor.

He grinned to himself. Time to go to work.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Well, Sergeant Barnes...it is a pity, but that arm will have to go--"_

Clint read that line over and over, and looked up at the exhausted soldier before him. Bucky was tight-lipped and so tense that every nerve was on hair-trigger; the only part of him moving was his remaining flesh hand, which was carding so gently and rhythmically through Tank's enormous ruff of fur. This session was their third, and so far, the most emotionally brutal. At Clint's suggestion, Bucky had started a diary two weeks ago, and they'd kept their one appointment a week for the moment in order to give Bucky a little more order.

His last therapist had been rather...sporadic with scheduling, and Clint was anything but. Once a week on Wednesday, from ten in the morning to noon, or later if they needed to. That was probably the only flexibility, there; Clint had shifted around his schedule so that Bucky could take the whole day if he needed to. Part of that was to also give Bucky a rest from Steve...and Steve, a rest from constantly hovering over Bucky.

Clint knew why the blond was a mother hen; Bucky had been a POW for six long years, captured after a terrible fall from the train they'd been trying to board. Taken captive by a sect of Russian and Ukrainian extremists, he'd been forced into acts of treason against his home country at the risk of Steve and their entire command being slaughtered. Clint still shuddered inwardly at the thought of that sort of torture; he would have done the same to save Tasha, Phil, Maria, and Fury...and he'd said as much to Bucky, which had actually seemed to comfort him a great deal.

But Bucky still blamed himself for being too weak to stop them, to fight back, and he couldn't handle Steve's blaming himself, and his own. That's what had prompted this journal entry; Clint refused to read the daily pages unless Bucky himself offered, but Bucky had begged him to read it, to make some sense of the nightmares he kept having.

"...You always wake up before the actual amputation, don't you?" A heavy sigh, and all those nerves relaxed, Bucky's already dark eyes shadowed all the more right now with the heavy circles under them. He looked like death warmed over, and Clint resolved to take him to lunch, to get him out in the warm sunshine and maybe see if he was up to some vitamin supplements...

"Yeah. Thank god, they put me under enough that I don't remember a damn thing...but it's a very, very near miss, and I still wake up shaking and sweating. I just wish I knew why they were coming back again; I thought I'd gotten through the worst of them." He winced, just a little, and closed the leather-bound journal, handing it back over.

"The honest truth is, we'll probably never know exactly. Dreams and the subconscious have a way of absolutely fucking up all your plans with the ease of a three-legged elephant in a china shop." Bucky stared for a long moment, then coughed out a rough laugh, scrubbing his metal hand over his face.

"...This is why I like you so much, you actually understand...all this shit. You get it, like so few people do, and I'd forgotten how good it was to feel...well, like I was listened to. Like you care. I mean, Steve cares, he does, but he never..."

"He never saw what you saw, or was forced to do what you did. Believe me, I get it, so much. I might not know that same experience, but I...well, I still have a lot of blood on my hands, blood that shouldn't have been spilled, but was because my then-superiors demanded it. My CO did the best he could with the orders he was given, but he always took me aside the nights we had wet-work, and told me this: 'Barton, I want you to know that you have the right to walk away from this. You have that right, even though your country would probably call it treason. I need you to take this shot, but I will not stop you if you decide it's too damn much. Hell, I'll make sure I muddy the tracks as much as I can so you can get away.'

"And he'd let me make that choice, patient as a statue. I did because they'd wait up for hours, they'd get me in, and we'd drink, we'd talk a little, and it helped. It helped because they hated it, it helped because Tasha and Phil, they'd let me cry it out in the dark after...and that's why I did it. So that no one else would feel the way I did." Bucky's eyes softened, his smile a little wider now.

"...That...was in part why I kept doing it too. If I did it, I could protect Steve and Peggy and the Commandos. If I did it, they wouldn't take one of the fresh-faced young snipers that were so damn young and force them to. If I did it...I thought that maybe one day they'd kill me, and be done with it. Believe me, I know how bad that sounds, but..." Clint only smiled.

"I'm not judging you, Bucky; trust me, I'm not. You were suffering, forced to cause more suffering....death is a pretty damn friendly sight during and after all of that. You mentioned last time that it was a NATO initiative that brought you home?"

"It wasn't really all that much; they raided the bunkers I was being kept in, took me in as a POW, and took my statements. They pardoned me in part because of the hacked security footage they found of my friends and comrades, and the logs they'd made of the..." He swallowed, mouth working, and took a deep breath as Clint waited, patient as always. "...the tortures, and the amputation. Then I got back to the States, and Steve and all of them..."

"And now you're just trying to make life a little more normal again."

"Yup. I...this might be a bit personal, but...what do you think of me moving out on my own? I love Steve, I do, he's my oldest, best friend...and every time he comes home from work, I want to just jump out of the window with the dog and run away."

"Then I think you ought to find yourself a nice little place and let me know if you need help moving your things." He brightened up, almost shyly, and Clint's eyes warmed. "Seriously, and if you'd like some help, you just let me know; I'm more than happy to carry boxes, or kick Steve out long enough to let you do whatever you need to." He heaved a heavy sigh at that, and Clint urged him to rant a little about the captain, just to get some of it off his chest. Each office was heavily soundproofed for this very reason; they didn't want their clients to feel like their secrets were broadcast to the whole world.

They were coming up to their time, and Clint found a quiet moment in the conversation to lean forward and make his offer. "So, I know we end this at noon, but you still look awful tired; feel up to a burger and a little sunshine?" Bucky thought it over for a moment, then nodded, smiling a little more now.

"Is Tank welcome?"

"Hell yeah he is, I'll grab Lucky from being spoiled by Darcy. The guy who runs the burger stand is a fellow vet, and he loves dogs; he'll be gushing over Tank for days, I can tell you that." Bucky grinned happily, and after prying a very, very content Lucky from Darcy's foot-pets, they found themselves relaxing outside of Wade's Wild Burgers at a small table. The burgers were sincerely delicious, the day was warm and balmy, and the dogs were eating their own chow happily...

Bucky was relaxed completely now, smiling and chatting up Wade as they compared their various war injuries (Wade would always win with the full-body burns, but he had a fantastically morbid sense of humor)...And Clint sighed a little on the inside. Bucky's shoulder-length dark brown hair was tucked back over his ears, his blue eyes full of laughter, his frankly impressive physique only amplified by the fitted long sleeved flannel shirt he wore...he was truly gorgeous.

And totally his damn type. Well, one of the two; the other was 'competent senior officer', but he was NOT going to go down that route again. One Phil was enough. He just gave the two of them a friendly smile and finished his fries, passing off more than a few to Lucky under the table, lost in the faint melancholy that always came over him when he thought about Coulson.

He did miss Phil; he couldn't deny that, and he wouldn't even begin to at this point in his life. But by the same token, he wasn't willing to give up his convictions. He had gotten out of the service because he couldn't handle being in the field anymore, he had no interest in doing desk duty, and well...he'd had a lot of death on his hands. A lot of guilt and pain and blood...and he wanted to do something that would pay back some of that. He wasn't naive enough to hope for all of it, but he loved his job now...

Phil...had been less than supportive. He lived and breathed the agency, to an extent that Clint still couldn't understand, and when he'd brought up the idea of a counseling degree, of going back and getting his GED too, Phil had stared at him. _' "You're a top agent, Clint; why would you ever want to go back to a civilian?" '_ That conversation had started the chain reaction that had finally culminated in Clint moving in with Natasha, and Phil abandoning their little flat in the UK in favor of the base's quarters.

His heart still ached a little; he hadn't wanted to break up with Phil at all, but he just couldn't be with someone who...well...who didn't understand him. Who didn't love him enough to realize that he couldn't do the fieldwork, that he couldn't stain his hands with more blood. Tasha had understood; she was in the same position, minus the antagonistic lover, and two months after that, they'd gone back to the States, and met Sam and Sharon...

Lucky's soft nose pushed his hand up just enough to wiggle his snout and head under his palm, and Clint smiled down at the dog, letting the bitterness and the sadness fade away. Lucky's single eye was full of love and concern, and he started petting him, taking comfort in the soft _swish-swish_ of the retriever's long tail over the concrete. No, he didn't regret it now, for all that he missed Phil, and more than that, he was able to set aside that pain far more readily than he ever could have hoped for. Some of it was his training, but most was the fact that he'd moved on...

"Hey, Barton, catch!" He smirked as he reached up and caught the flung packet of cookies; these weren't Wade's creation, he got them from a bakery down on Fifth every morning, and sold them and split the profits half and half with Neena and Betsy. Wade grinned at him and leaned over the counter, his ridiculously bright Hawaiian shirt and nineties neon hat such a contrast...but on him, it worked. His scars crinkled around his eyes, and he settled his chin in one hand.

"Bets had some newfangled recipes she wanted to try. Take those back to the office and lemme know what the others think, alright?"

"Deal; anything Betsy does is amazing."

"Thanks, man...so, Bucky, you a client or a date?" Clint felt the heat rise on his cheeks and hoped that he could hide it by drinking his coffee; Bucky, thank god, didn't seem to notice.

"I'm just a client."

"Yeah? Damn, because you're a gorgeous guy, and if I wasn't dating my freaky spider-scientist...I'd totally flirt you up." Bucky actually threw his head back and laughed, and Clint felt his stomach twist in knots. _Fuck, he's got the perfect laugh..._ "Ah, sorry, not everyone's totally pan like me."

"No, but I am bi, so it's cool, dude." _Goddammit._ "I do appreciate the compliment, though...And you make some fantastic burgers, this is the best meal I've had in weeks. I can't cook anything more complicated than macaroni and cheese and neither can my current roommate." Wade smirked a little, and Clint gulped.

"Oh, if you're looking for a good meal, you have no further to look than the handsome blond with a coffee addiction across from you. Barton's the best cook in these parts. I mean, Sam's pretty damn good too, but Barton makes some amazing grill food and sandwiches." Clint really was blushing now, and Bucky's eyes twinkled as Wade extolled more and more of his virtues, finally standing up with a choked off grunt when he started in on Clint's sexual prowess.

"RIGHT! Um. Bucky, we probably ought to get you back, do you feel up to more of the session?" Bucky's blue eyes were glowing, and he was grinning, Tank echoing him with a big doggy smile, and Clint cleared his throat a little more.

"Nah, I think Tank and I'll head to the dog park and play for a while, and then go home for a nap. I'm sure you've got plenty of work still to do." Clint just smiled, relaxing a little, and nodded.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, the sooner I can get caught up, the better my work is. Alright, we'll see you next week, but please call me if there's any issues, alright?"

"I will. Wednesday, same time?"

"Unless you need something earlier or later. Just text me and let me know. Alright...c'mon, Luck, we gotta head."

"Gotcha. C'mon, Tank!" They parted with grins and waves, and Clint couldn't stop his smile all the way back to the office. _I don't think I was imagining things, he saw that blush...and he didn't seem to mind it. But first things first, Barton; he's your patient, as it were, and he deserves your whole focus in the least sexual way possible, including if he does actually decide to talk about sex. In the mean time, talk to Tasha and Sam and Sharon about his nightmares, and get their take on things. At least he's got the list of vitamins that help with sleep, and he's gonna be out in the sunshine..._

He still was worried, though; Steve was going to have to be talked to, because his hovering was just making things so much worse...Bucky felt threatened by it, if only because that's what the guards had done. So, conference with Pepper, Tasha, Sam, and Sharon...And probably some booze. He was definitely gonna need some to handle Steve. Not that he was a bad guy, he was just...forceful.

 _He's a lot like Phil; he believes what he believes, and it's very, very hard to sway a person like that. Great. Well, at least I've done that dance before, and they aren't lovers; that makes it easier. Still ain't pleasant, but it's easier._ Maybe he'd just ask Tasha and Sam to work with Steve; they did better with the abandonment issues than he did. He let Lucky wander back to his kennel outside for a proper afternoon nap, and settled himself in the lounge with a mountain of paperwork and a comfy chair with one of his old textbooks as a pseudo-table.

The others wandered in and out, and as the afternoon drew to a close, he felt all his anxiety fade away. They'd get through this, he had faith in both his skill and knowledge, and Bucky's want to heal. And he had his family; they'd help him do the best he could and offer their own wisdom.

And that was comfort enough.

\---

Bucky got home later than he'd planned, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief; Steve was out on a date tonight, and he didn't have to worry about being bothered throughout dinner, his shower, his reading...He loved Steve, he did, and he supposed that he'd done his fair share of this back when they were kids. After all, the blond had been half his current beefy size and a walking illness...but he'd left Steve to his own devices when he could. There hadn't been this...hovering.

A year into being home, and Bucky was ready to kick him in the head. Steve had no concept whatsoever of just letting things go or shut the fuck up, and more often than not, Bucky had to just lock his door, put on his noise-canceling headphones, and wrap up around Tank, taking a tiny bit of comfort in doggy kisses and soft fur. Those had been his only refuge for a good long while...and then he'd started the therapy sessions.

His first two counselors were...alright, if a bit out of their depth...and to his shock, Steve had actually done him a pretty hefty solid by getting him an appointment with Clint Barton. And he was grateful; insanely grateful, because he'd made a lot more progress in these last three weeks than he could have ever expected. But...Steve was still hovering, and so intent...on what, Bucky still wasn't sure. He suspected that it might be the simple, driving desire to have his old, sarcastic best friend back...exactly the way he'd been back in Brooklyn.

And he just wasn't that carefree guy anymore.

He sighed, set out Tank's food in his own bathroom, and got himself ready for bed, shifting his focus back to a much more pleasant subject...Clint, for example. He grinned to himself as he got changed, remembering those laughing blue-gray eyes with their flecks of pretty green, his gorgeous sunkissed skin and the smattering of freckles over his arms and cheeks. Add in the fitted tee shirt and dark jeans and his sunglasses perched in spiky blond hair...

That amazing physique, coupled with a kind heart and quick wit...he was definitely attracted to him. And yeah, that wasn't exactly a good idea; he probably shouldn't fall in lust with his counselor...but, hell, if he was clever enough, Clint would never know he was daydreaming about kissing those soft-looking lips. Tank jumped up on the bed as he settled himself under the covers, and he settled in the cool darkness, Tank's warmth radiating at his back...before too long, sleep had ambushed him and carried him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious, the Steve I'm writing is the Steve I kinda feel is represented in the MCU; he knows what Bucky's gone through, but he doesn't...quite understand the emotional and mental traumas, and he's dealing with most of his own trauma too. I truly don't want to insult or antagonize anyone, and I promise, he'll get some help in the next few chapters himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking up at the crack of dawn was mildly acceptable; Clint didn’t like it much, but it wasn’t a huge change in his normal rhythm. He usually waited at least an extra forty-five minutes to doze, but it wasn’t a problem...No, the problem was DEFINITELY when someone woke him up banging on the front door at four am. He snarled a little as he stumbled to the door; Sharon was out, probably getting laid or having already done so, Sam was visiting his patient, and Logan and Wanda could sleep through a tornado.

Which, of course, left him...and he had absolutely no patience for the blond at the door when he’d slammed it open, eyes still gummy from sleep and his pants nearly falling off his hips. He didn’t even have his hearing aids in; his unwelcome visitor had been so loud that he’d been woken up by the sheer noise.

“What the ever loving FUCK do you think you’re doing, Rogers?” Two months now, he’d been seeing Bucky as a patient, and nearly every time, Steve Rogers was hovering around, acting rather hurt and a little jealous whenever Clint and Bucky shared laughs or stories or really awful jokes and insults. Clint got that, he really did...but god _damn_ did it get annoying after a while. And now this idiot was showing up at his door, this late at night/early in the goddamn morning? Clint had had enough.

“Maybe you don’t fuckin’ sleep like the rest of the human race does, but rest assured, I do, and I can’t fuckin’ stand it when people like you come around bangin’ on the goddamn door! Seriously, what is your fuckin’ problem?” He snarled out, glaring and grateful that he was actually an inch taller. To his credit, Steve looked rather...subdued now, and he swallowed nervously, looking a little uncomfortable as Clint stared at his lips like a hawk.

“I’m really, really sorry I had to come all the way here and wake you up, but I can’t find Bucky, he took his phone with him, and he’s not answering it. I’m scared as hell that he had a bad night again; it happens from time to time, and he always runs off, but usually just down the street to the park!” Clint took all that in, sighed, and waved him in, stalking back to his room.

“Let me get dressed here...does he have Tank with him?”

“He’d have to; that dog goes with him everywhere except the bathroom. And Tank won’t ever leave him, not in this state.” Clint pulled on a long sleeved shirt and tee over that, and grabbed his comfiest jeans and boots, yanking them on and lacing quickly.

“This park he goes to, it’s small, right?”

“Right. It’s just a little thing, he usually sits up on the top of the slide...” Clint paused at that, and searched Steve’s face.

“...He was a sniper, right?”

“Yeah, but what does that...oh...high places.”

“Not always, but _safe_ places, places he can’t be reached, that’s where he’ll be. Lucky...” The retriever was stiff and stretching, but came over willingly, accepting a ruffle and a couple treats while Clint one-handed his aids in, flipping them on with a wince. “Lucky, I’m gonna need your help, okay? We need to help Bucky.” The dog gave a soft whine, leaning into his legs, and he stroked the soft fur on his forehead, rubbing so gently.

“I know, buddy, I know...Alright. Let’s go; you can show me where the most likely places will be. Places he passes by with Tank on a walk for example, or places he likes to go out to, like a library, a shopping center...” Steve thought about that as they both got into Clint’s truck (he’d driven his motorcycle over), and as they drove to the park in question, he took a deep breath.

“There is a place that’s the most likely; it’s the old theater over near downtown. Bucky loves to go sit up on the roof of it; there’s actually a rooftop garden and community area up there, they gate it off after midnight, but that’s easy enough to get around...you just follow the stairs up after you hop the fence and you’re there.”

“Then that’s the most likely place. I’ll go up; you stay down on the ground with Lucky.”

“But...” Clint paused at a red light, and looked at him, all his patience gone.

“Steve, I’m going to be extremely blunt. Your hovering and worrying is doing nothing more than piling on Bucky’s anxiety and making his PTSD trigger harder and more often. So I’m only going to say this once; step down, let me do my job, and Bucky will heal at his own pace. You forcing the issue just makes it a hell of a lot harder to work out the roots of his issues, and he already has problems enough.” He didn’t quite gun it through the intersection and towards the theater, but it was a near thing.

Steve stayed quiet even after they arrived, and Clint gave Lucky the commands that meant he was to listen to Steve, but only for the basics, then he got out and after a quick glance around to make sure there weren’t any cops or cameras watching, he scrambled up over the fence...and down nearly into Tank’s jaws. Fortunately, the big hybrid recognized his scent, and he got worried doggy kisses instead of a nasty bite.

“Sorry buddy, sorry...hey, wanna come up and we’ll see if we can talk to your human? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it...” He soothed the dog with cuddles and some heavy scratching as Tank whined softly, then started up the pretty concrete steps, Tank’s toenails _click-clicking_ right alongside him.

Garden was right; Clint marveled at the large planters and raised beds as he came to the top of the stairs...and took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air blowing in from the north, though the figure silhouetted by the Christmas lights down along the main road hardly moved a muscle. And for his part, Clint made a point of walking just hard enough to crunch the gravel under his feet; he could move silently, even over all of this, but he knew, deep down, that he didn’t dare; Bucky needed to know that help was coming overtly.

Tank went ahead, nuzzling up to Bucky’s human hand, and Clint let out a soundless sigh of relief to see that hand caressing, if a little stiffly, the dog’s big ruff. That was a good sign, a great sign, even; it meant that Bucky was at least aware enough to welcome Tank up close...and he took a deep breath, keeping his voice warm and friendly, and loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“Hey, Bucky, how’s it goin’?” That got him a response; just a glance over his shoulder, but it was enough to continue. “I gotta say, this place is incredible; I had no idea that they had it up here, so hey, ya learn somethin’ new every day. Tank was lookin’ a little worried though, so I thought I’d come up and see if I could help with anything...” There. His shoulders slumped a little, and Bucky sat down heavily on the planter that was just behind him, Tank pressed close to keep his master warm and safe, whining and rumbling alternately.

“...I don’t know if you can help me, but goddamn, I want you to try.” His voice sounded so damn wrecked, and Clint gingerly sat down on the planter across and to the side from him, well within reaching distance if they stretched, but not so close as to hover.

“Well then, how’s about a little somethin’ to eat for breakfast and some coffee?” That got him a wry smile.

“I take it you know a place?”

“Of course I do; they’re open now, if you wanna go?”

“Yeah...yeah, that sounds good....Steve’s downstairs, right?”

“He is, he’s sitting in the truck with Lucky. But the place I’m gonna take ya, I’ve got a buddy that will keep Steve occupied, so we don’t have to worry about him if you don’t want to. Now, if you wanna talk things out with him, totally cool, we can do that too. It’s all up to you, Bucky...and if you don’t wanna do anything but warm up and go back home to crash, then come in for an extra session, we can do that too.” He thought it over, and nodded.

“Let’s go and eat and get some coffee first, then we’ll see. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. Shall we?” Clint let Bucky lead the way, tired, but happy that all he needed this night was a friendly face...and maybe a few donuts. Thankfully, he scaled the fence in record time, and Clint started to ask about Tank and boosting him up...when the enormous wolf-dog bunched up, leapt...and cleared the eight foot fence with ease and some definite room to spare, landing with a scrabble of claws and a deep _boof_.

“...Wow.” He could practically hear Bucky’s proud grin.

“Yeah, that’s my boy...c’mon, Clint.” He just laughed and scaled the fence like a monkey, dropping down with ease and heading to the truck, where both Bucky and Tank were squeezing into the back, and Steve was looking both happy and a little nervous. He slipped in, buckled up, and started the truck again.

“Alright, guys, let’s go to the diner.”

“But...what about going home...?” Steve looked bewildered and Bucky sighed a bit.

“Steve, I love you dearly, I do, but I need coffee, Clint needs a whole gallon of the stuff, and we’re half an hour away from dawn. Let’s just...let go for a bit, relax, then we’ll go home and go back to sleep. I’m sorry I booked on you...I just....I couldn’t be in the same space right then.” Steve still looked hurt, but he clearly pushed it aside and nodded, eyes fixed on the road.

“It’s okay...I understand, Bucky.” Clint just heaved and inward sigh, his headache already compounding with the lack of caffeine in his system and the ache he always got when his ears were exposed to cold, and drove them to the little coffee shop, where, thankfully, there was plenty of hot drink and food to go around. The brunette at the counter glanced up as they came inside, dogs in tow, and seemed to freeze a moment when he saw Steve, then turned warm smiles on all of them and came around the counter.

“Hey guys, what can I do for you?”

“God, like, a whole pot of coffee, Tony, and whatever these two want...and if you have anything out of the oven recently, I’ll buy all of it.” Tony Stark grinned and shooed them all into a comfortable booth, brought out mats for the dogs to curl up on (two for Tank), and returned at last with a huge plate of hot cinnamon rolls, two large carafes of coffee, and four mugs rather than three...and he plopped himself on the seat next to Clint, serving up the coffee before taking a sip for himself. He smirked at Clint’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re trying to do the Maria and Melinda and Tasha thing; it doesn’t work, man, give it up.”

“So says you.”

“I do sayeth, because I do believeth that. Anyway, what the hell are you doing out this early, Clint? You’re an early riser, but you’re not a dawn owl like me.” Bucky winced and raised his mug; his human hand was pretty firmly kneading Tank’s ruff, much to the big dog’s delight.

“That’d be my fault...I had...well, night terrors, and I needed to get away, so my buddy hear called my therapist to help find me.” Tony’s eyes softened, and he passed over a cinnamon roll.

“Eat, Fury just made these an hour ago before he left for the airport to pick up Melinda and Andrew...” Bucky looked confused, and Tony smiled. “Our general manager and her husband; Fury’s the owner, but he leaves the ‘accounting shit’ up to her because he’d rather bake all night long. It’s great, I gotta say; how I’m not fat, I have no fucking idea, because I cannot resist anything anyone makes in the place. Clint just grinned and refilled his coffee.

“Tony’s the lone weirdo in a whole huge group of ex-spies.”

“Robotics and ex-weapons engineer, thank you. I still make robots, but like, dopey, awesome, environmentally safe robots and design some awesome green technology. And make killer coffees, mochas, lattes...you name it. And teas, though that’s mostly Bruce and Pepper’s thing...” Bucky cocked his head, and Clint smiled.

“You probably saw their names on the wall in our building; Bruce and Pepper helped get our start...”

“And Pep used to help run my company, but she got pretty tired of that, and I can’t blame her, this is a much better job for her.” Tony smiled, nodding to Tank. “Hell of a dog; he’s a wolf-mountain dog mix, isn’t he?” Bucky brightened, nodding, and as Clint woke up a little more, he finally managed to get his brain back on the conversation, which had devolved into Tony dragging Steve over to the back room 'to show off his robots' while Bucky and Tank had moved to the cushions, the big dog rumbling with honest pleasure.

Warm blue eyes glanced up at him, and Clint just chuckled as Lucky promptly dragged his cushion over, plopped down with a soft groan, and tucked his head in Bucky's lap, lone eye closing again. Bucky just smiled, and freed a hand to stroke his head, and winked up at Clint.

"...I am sorry that you had to come out so early in the morning. I had every intention of being home before dawn, I just...needed some time to breathe."

"Bucky, you don't ever have to apologize; I'd rather that Steve come bang on my door every morning if it means that you're safe and sound." He blinked, feeling a blush creep over his cheeks; he hadn't quite meant to be so...earnest about that. But he wouldn't take it back...it was as honest as anything he'd ever said in his life, and he'd say it for every one of his patients if they needed that.

"...I really do appreciate that. Hey, uh...for our session Wednesday, can we maybe go over some of the apartments I found? My pension's doing a great job of paying for things, and because of my internment, I ended up learning Russian, Hungarian, Czech...I thought that maybe I could try doing translation?" Clint's eyes warmed, and he nodded, smiling happily, if tiredly.

"That's a great idea! Absolutely, you bring in whatever you need, and we can even go driving and check some out if you want! And the translation thing, that's a great idea; can I bring in my partner in crime, Natasha? She's Russian, and she knows everyone in town who would be thrilled to have a good translator to work with." Bucky beamed at that, and Clint just smiled, offering him the chipped mug he'd claimed, and drank in the first rays of the sun just peeping over the horizon.

Late night, long night...and a perfect morning.

\---

"Steve, I love you dearly, I do, but when the hell are you gonna tell him about us?" Steve winced as Tony's eyebrow raised, and he sighed, leaning against the back wall of the bakery while Tony's golden brown eyes pinned him. "Seriously, he's not gonna get mad or weird about it, it's obvious he's got the hots for his therapist, and vice versa. What is your hang up?"

"...I just...I...just don't want things to be awkward..." Tony sighed softly and came over to him, drawing him into a hug and a kiss.

"...I'm sorry I got grumpy. I understand, you know I do..."

"Your Dad..."

"Less Dad nowadays, more Obie, the homophobic asshole. Steve, honey, you gotta talk to him...hell, ask his therapist for some help! Actually, that's a good idea for the both of us; God knows I've got plenty of problems, and you, my heart, my love, you have some issues yourself that it won't hurt to talk over." Steve grumbled but gave him a rueful smile, kissing his forehead.

"You don't mince words ever, do you?"

"Of course not, why waste the time? But seriously...why don't I make us an appointment, and the two of us go in, talk things over, and maybe ask Bucky to come in and you can talk to him?"

"I...I guess..."

"And then I'm taking you out to dinner, and you and I are going to have an amazing night, and you are going to leave Bucky be for the night. Yes?" Steve sighed, rolling his eyes, but smiled.

"Yes."

"Good. Now, let's go put your cute ass to bed, and let that poor man go back to his bed." Tony promptly grabbed him by the hand and with no little effort, managed to drag him right back out into the main cafe, where Clint was talking softly with Bucky, now settled on his side around a sleeping Lucky, the room full of doggy snores. Neither of them seemed to notice that he and Steve were holding hands, and Tony smirked before dropping his fingers, walking gently over to Bucky.

"Now, as much as I'd love to have you two chill here and drink coffee and eat all day long, I think it's more than time for you two to head home and pass out. Sound good?" Clint chuckled, his eyes dark shadowed, and nodded.

"Sounds good. I've got time to get a nap before I have my afternoon appointments...Hey, Lucky...hey boy, let's wake up..." The dog grumbled, then finally lifted his head, and Clint took Steve's shyly offered hand and stood up with a groan, cracking his back. Tony helped Bucky up the same way, with Tank yawning right behind him, and he let them out the door, waving as the two men headed back towards Steve and Bucky's place...and Steve wrapped his arms around his middle, nuzzling neck.

"Thank you...I love you so much, you know that?" Tony smiled, soft and sweet, and leaned back against his chest, turning his head to give Steve a slightly scratchy beard-kiss.

"I love you too. Now, get your ass home and rest up; I'll call you later?" Steve laughed and kissed him again, then let him go, heading out the door. Tony waved at him till he was out of sight, and smiled a little as he turned back to clean up the booth, wholly unsurprised to see the business card and tip tucked under his coffee cup.

"Alright, Mr. Barton, I'll bite. You see a little further into the millstone than most, now don't you..." Tucking it away in his wallet, he finished cleaning everything up, and savored his last cup of coffee for the shift, grin spreading as Phil and Maria walked in to take over the day shift. Phil raised an eyebrow, and Tony smirked.

"Have a big blond visitor in the night?"

"Oh, more than one...but I'll talk about that later. I'm ready to go home and see if Dummy's destroyed the house again."

"Fine fine...Get some sleep, Tony."

"Thanks, Phil. I'll see you tomorrow morning.

"See you in the morning." As Tony grabbed his bag, refilled his thermos with coffee, and set out, he pondered that card, and decided to make the appointment as soon as he woke up for the day.

Soonest begun, soonest done!


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha perused the examples of Bucky’s handwriting and translation with a critical eye while Clint waited patiently at the table in the kitchen, refletching his quiver of arrows. He’d already restrung his bow earlier in the morning, and oiled his shooting gloves and replaced the shells of his armguards. He always got a lot of shit from the rest of the guys out on the range for wearing both sets at once...until they realized that he was entirely ambidextrous, and terrifyingly accurate. He had a half-inch to two inch margin between both arms, if he wasn’t focusing; less than a half-inch when he was.

“These are really, really good.” He’d faxed them over this morning after sending Clint the places he was looking at to move to; Clint didn’t mind, he’d just released a client anyway, and spending more time on Bucky was hardly a chore. Admit it, you’re enjoying this way too much.

“I thought so, but my language skills aren’t nearly as refined as yours.”

“He’s as good as I am, and I’m native; I’m very impressed. This must have been one of the things that kept him focused...”

“He wasn’t too sure on that; he just knows that when he got home, he realized just how extensive his vocabulary was. He does know Romanian fluently, but that’s because he’s a second-generation immigrant.”

“Oh, I figured that; he uses slang that only a born speaker of it would use...Mother?”

“Mmhmm; she and the rest of his siblings are still in New York. Things are...a little strained from what he’s said, so I’m not pushing him to try and reconnect any time soon. Besides, he’s got more than enough on his plate right now; he wants to try and get moved out of Steve’s first, find a good place for Tank and him, and spend some time working on his portfolio so that he can set out with a good base.”

“Smart man. Alrighty, I’ll make a few calls and some emails, see if we can scare up a few tentative freelance projects to boost him up.” A light rap came at the door, and Darcy opened it to slip in, her dark hair done up fifties style to match the pretty dark blue and white polka dot dress. She handed Tasha a new file, grinning at the raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, boss lady, but you’ve got a couple who’d like to see you.”

“Who might they-- Oh. Uh...So, Clint, Bucky’s appointments are on Wednesdays still, right?”

“Yup, why?”

“...Because I’m now seeing Steve Rogers and...wait, Darcy, this can’t be right. Tony _Stark_?” Clint surged up out of the chair to dare a peek over her shoulder, and Darcy just shrugged.

“Tony was the one who made the call, and asked for Natasha in particular, since Clint’s seeing Bucky. Said that they’d need some couples’ counseling too, but he mainly wanted to get Steve in to talk to someone.” Clint blinked, then suddenly laughed a little bit, and Tasha shot him a deadly look, all too clearly demanding an explanation.

“Holy shit, that explains a couple days ago...I’ll be damned, Tony’s a sly fox. I just left him my card because I knew he’d been having troubles with his dad’s business partner over his orientation and his ‘lack of ambition’; I thought if he had someone to talk to objectively, he might be able to talk a little easier with his father...”

“So, you had no idea that he and Rogers...?”

“Not a damn bit. I think Bucky suspects, though, because he mentioned that he’d leave ‘the lovebirds’ alone; I thought he was being sarcastic, because there was a lot of annoyance between the two of them that morning.”

“...Well, I’ll take it, and call in Bruce to help moderate things. Can you call him back and book him for Thursday afternoons?” Darcy saluted and carried the file back out, leaving behind the two of them to stare at one another, bewildered. Clint just sighed, and decided to settle on the floor, prompting Lucky to curl up between his legs, head on his stomach. If he had to handle that much emotional crap, he deserved doggy cuddles.

“...Look on the bright side, Tash. At least you don’t have the Sword of Inappropriate Feelings for Your Patient hanging over your head.”

\---

“Phil.” He glanced up, tired, and leaned back in his beat-up old chair, not even bothering with his normal pleasant mask around May. She gave him a faint smile and came over to the desk, perching herself on the edge with all the grace of a hundred missions. “I thought I’d find you back here, moping.” He raised an eyebrow, and she countered it; he shrugged when it failed, yet again.

“Not moping per se...mostly just...remembering. And hopeless dreaming.”

“You know, you could do a lot of good with apologizing.”

“...I really don’t know if he’d accept them, May. Not that I don’t want to do, for the record; I do. I want to so much that it aches...but...look at how much happier he is out there. He’s surrounded by his friends, he’s safe, he’s secure...why on earth would he ever want to pick back up with me? We’re friendly enough, and that’s all I can ask for.”

And Clint really was; right now, he was out in the main part of the cafe around the biggest table, laughing as they played cards for crullers, surrounded by his fellow counselors, Tony’s boyfriend Steve (who evidently was deeply in denial about anyone knowing they were dating), and his best friend, Bucky. And judging from the little glances Clint was giving the tall, dark-haired man...

Phil knew that smile, those looks, far too well.

“...Yeah. That’s all I can ask for. May, I basically told him that his dreams were worthless, that he was wasting his time being anything other than a killer...and that haunts me to this day. God, what if his reaction had been totally the opposite? What if he’d gone of the deep end, instead of getting discharged? I never could have lived with myself...”

“But he didn’t. He didn’t, and now he’s here, you’re here, and I think you’re being a damn fool. But...I can’t force you, nor him, and I won’t. I think you’re wasting your second chance, especially after that kukri nearly bisected you...” He winced, one hand coming to the center of his chest in reaction to the phantom pain, and she sighed. “Sorry. Look, just...think about it, okay? I want to see my best friend happy again...and no matter what this new guy does, I don’t know that he’ll bring that light back to Clint’s eyes quite like you did...”

Phil let out a weary sigh, and she finally let him be. Taking a moment to breathe through the tightness in his chest, he very, very carefully peeked around the doorway of his office, eyes closing in heartache at that familiar laugh. He wanted nothing more than to walk in there, drop to his knees, and beg Clint for forgiveness, his pride be damned...but it wasn’t pride that kept him in his chair, that made him pick up his pen shakily and start working on the inventory list again.

No, what made him turn back to his work was the love he still held for his favorite blond asshole, the pure joy that Clint had finally found a life that he truly deserved. That he’d found friends and a home and a dog...That he finally had something that no one, not his brother, not the bastards who’d farmed him out for easy cash with his sharpshooting...could ever take away from him. And Phil was so pathetically grateful for that.

But...it never did make the pain any easier to deal with. Blocking everything out did, but...well...he loved that laugh so much, and the terrible puns that always preceded it, so he let Clint’s voice move into the background, smiling a little down at the order sheet as he ran through all twenty pages of what they’d need. Not all of it was being ordered right then; this was just a simple guideline for his online order, and gave him a chance to compare usage through the weeks.

By the time Phil had finished the last page, he could hear that warm voice fading through the door, telling Tony good bye...and he settled back in his chair again, tipping his head back so that the tears wouldn’t fall and make the ink bleed. He didn’t shift positions even when there was a scraping at the door; closing his eyes and lacing his fingers together always had the effect of making people think he had a headache...which, to be fair, was usually true.

“...y’know, I can see why you fell for him.” He sighed. Tony. Of course.

“...I’d really rather not talk about my ex-boyfriend, Stark.”

“I gathered that. But...I think you should talk to him.”

“...You and May are agreeing. The world really has come to an end.” There was a scoff and Tony’s voice came back more annoyed now, obviously not in the mood.

“Oh knock it off, Coulson, anyone with half a brain can see that you’re clearly still in love.” Phil finally lost his temper, growling as he threw himself upright, only distantly aware of the tears slowly burning down his cheeks.

“Oh really? Is it just that fucking obvious? Do tell me your secret ways, Mr. I’ve-Been-A-Playboy-Since-I-Was-Seventeen! Mr. Sleeps-With-Everything-With-A-Pulse! Or maybe you can just shut the fuck up, because I hurt the man that I love so fucking badly that if he ever _does_ forgive me, I can guarantee I’d agree to whatever he decided to set for boundaries...which, to be frank, will most likely be “friends, nothing more”.”

Tony was blinking, staring at him, and Phil furiously scrubbed away at his tears, feeling more like an angry, heartbroken teenager than the forty-plus-year-old he actually was. He was just so goddamn sick of everyone telling him how to handle his love life...well, lack of love life, because no one could ever compare to Clint, and no one ever would. And he’d fucked up his chances so thoroughly...he wanted to go back in time half a decade ago and slap the uptight asshole he’d been.

But...he wanted a lot of things. None of which he was ever gonna get.

“Just...fucking stop. Alright? I’m not going to do this, not to Clint. And I swear to God, if anyone, anyone at all, says one more word about this, I’m giving the inventory back to Fury.” Tony paled, and Phil could see the realization that by doing so, Fury would utterly decimate his gourmet coffee supplies for the cheapest shit he could find. “And I don’t give a damn about if that’s right or wrong. Also, after I put this in, I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“I...sure...no problem, Phil.” He didn’t bother watching the other man’s retreat; he sat back down and devoted the next half-hour to putting in, and double checking his numbers, then uploaded the order. Finally, he was done...and he glanced back out at the cafe, feeling his melancholy descend again. _God, I was such an arrogant prick...how in the hell did he ever love me? Excellent sex is no excuse for your lover being a complete dipshit...but...he’s happy. Without me. And...as much as that hurts, I’m glad for it...and I think it’s time for a long nap in the hammock; maybe the sun will help some of the heartache._

He slipped out the back door to the alley, and started home, eyes on his feet the whole way. He had the top floor of a little building just outside of Bed-Stuy; it wasn’t much, but the old steel beams were more than sturdy enough for a nice hammock in front of a few huge windows. He’d kept the industrial look, finding it somewhat peaceful after so many years in both chaos and perfect order...here, he could have a few odds and ends that didn’t match anything but the simple aesthetic. It was silly, but...it was a comfort.

He tossed his bag and coat onto the heavy coat rack he’d fashioned out of some old iron horseshoes and a length of polished old telephone pole, toed off his shoes, and sank his feet into the one indulgence he’d spent money on; the inch-thick pile of his very expensive carpet. Padding over to the hammock, he held up the blanket, swung himself inside, and got adjusted, the steady rocking and faint creaks overhead from the eye-bolts already lulling him into a doze.

 _...mm...I miss this...with him..._ A soft-tinged memory, of a sunny day, too much like this, with the chilly winds and the heat of a few passing glances, with warm and that familiar broken nose tucked into his neck...and Phil was gone in the memory once more, a single tear sliding down his already raw cheek.

\---

Wade finished up the last burger and set of sweet potato fries for his final customer of the day, and bid him a good night as he flipped off his fryer and the little panini toaster he used. It was by no means an easy job, but he loved it; something about making food, and making it good helped people get over his burns. His sense of humor, not so much, but he’d learned to use that just as well as any of his blades or guns. He had a moniker even now, ‘The Merc With A Mouth’, and while the first part wasn’t true anymore, the latter hadn’t changed one iota.

It was the matter of a few minutes to clean up the grill; he always kept it fairly spotless, even during rushes, and as a consequence, his clean up was a quarter of the time most other restaurants used. And he was by himself; he only got Ellie during the summer time, and she didn’t always want to work in the burger shack (not that he blamed her, no, but he did enjoy the days she joined him.)

Now all he had was the trash and recycling to drop off, and the tables to wipe down, and he’d be set. He was fast approaching his hiatus for the shack; he kept it open from June to November, taking up the bulk of the walking business for downtown, and from January to April, he ran his food truck all around town instead. December and May were his break months; he flew out for Ellie’s school breaks, and spent the rest of his time usually experimenting with new menu items.

He hummed as he finished up the tables, latching down the awning that also served as his window cover, and started loading the glass, can, and paper boxes. The lockbox with his main sales for the day was already at the bank, courtesy of his buddy and business partner Cable ( _why Nathan Summers was such a bad name, Wade didn’t know, but it was distinctly funny, since Nate after his own service was very distinctly cybernetic now_ ). Now all he had to do was drop everything off, head home, and crash out on Peter’s chest...

The baseball bat to his left shoulder derailed that plan spectacularly. The blow slammed him into his truck’s tailgate, and winded, Wade wheezed out a few particularly choice swears before snagging the heavy four by four he kept in the bed and swung back. The shadows around the whole parking lot made it hard to tell where the fuckers were, but the howl of pain told him he’d landed a hit, and a nice one too; his eyes narrowed in satisfaction, blood singing under his ruined skin.

“Well boys, if ya wanted to take me out on the town, all ya had to do was _ask_ ~” He sang out, voice rough still from the first hit, and he swung his own crude bat at the darker shadows, trying his best to concentrate through the pain...when he realized the biggest shadow was talking now.

“Fuckin’ ugly ass faggot, you better drop that goddamn stick and get the fuck outta my goddamn town!” _Oh joy, some of the homophobic assholes of the neighborhood finally figured out that I’m not just an ugly ass straight guy. Whelp, looks like it’s time to kick some asses._ He smirked, hitting a single button on his keyring...and the whole area filled with light. He’d, of course, closed his eyes, and while they howled in their sudden blindness, he slammed his bat into knees, stomachs, backs, and the occasional face.

By the time the police had arrived, he’d finished tying them all up and he was just getting the last load into the back of his truck and tied down under the tarp...and he gave his favorite captain (coincidentally, Nate) a friendly wave. Cable took one look at the seven guys who’d tried to jump him, and came over, sighing.

“...You hurt, Wade?”

“Nah, I’m good, they only got a few grazes in. I promise, didn’t start it.”

“I know, we’ve got footage from the building next door. What I saw of it was pretty damning for them...wanna press charges?” Wade studied them, closed his eyes for a moment...and nodded, face grim.

“Please. I won’t risk Peter, or God forbid if they come back in the summer when I get Ellie.”

“You got it, Wade, I’ll bring over the paperwork tomorrow during lunch. You’ve gotta be tired...” He managed a smile, and leaned a little more against his truck, feeling his cool nerves utterly unravel from the adrenaline at last.

“Fuckin’ exhausted. I’m just gonna drop these off at the recycling center, then I am passing the fuck out on my boyfriend.”

“Duly noted. Get outta here, Wade; I’ll take care of this.” He gave his friend a smile and a hug, to which Nate returned it, a little harder than normal, and headed home. Thankfully, the center was right by the house, and soon enough, he was locking his own door, dropping his clothes and flopping naked on his own bed, groaning softly as the silk caressed his scars. Two warm, muscular arms slipped around his waist, and sleepily, Wade found himself nestled into Peter, who stroked his neck and back and bare scalp with those clever hands...

Blacking out had never felt so sweet.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, you're telling me Wade got his ass kicked last night?" Natasha had never looked so suspicious, and Clint just laughed, shaking his head as he sat down with his own lunch, leaning over to fill Lucky's bowl. He straightened back up and wiped his drooled-on fingers with a napkin, then opened up his bento box, cracking the chopsticks with old ease.

"Not necessarily; he got jumped while he was finishing up work. He didn't see the gang that tried to get him, but thankfully he'd already dropped off his main deposit for the day; all he had on him was his credit card receipts and his four by four. They still grazed him good though; he's got a bruised back and some nasty scrapes." She winced as she worked on her bowl of pierogi and he set in on his homemade club, taking a huge bite before washing it down with some rather lukewarm coffee (he was lazy).

“...How’d Peter take it?”

“About as well as could be expected. He saw the bruises in the morning and freaked, and they had another fight. Honestly...I get why Wade loves the guy, he‘s generally pretty sweet and certainly a genius, but I’m a little pissed; he picks fights over everything, and usually at the cost of Wade’s already tattered dignity. I’d love to have Tony give him a lesson in manners.” She raised an eyebrow at that, and he countered her, grinning.

“Don’t you look at me like that, you know full well that Tony Stark can play a crowd like a fiddle to whatever tune he desires. And seriously, he’s an ass when he wants to be, but not to his partners.” She had to concede that point, and turned gratefully to the topic, grinning a little as Clint fed a few slivers of turkey to a purring Liho.

“Fair enough...you know, he and his...boyfriend, they’re really a pretty cute couple.” Clint grinned at her pause, and just waved his hand.

“You might as well say Steve, because Bucky’s had a long-running bet with the rest of their buddies as to when Steve’s finally going to tell them he’s dating a guy. Bucky, quite frankly, doesn’t care, and he’s known for months, but he also knows that Steve’s shy as hell about saying so. So, Bucky pretends we totally didn’t see Tony cornering him the other morning in the shop, and I pretend I know nothing at all. Tony finds it funny as hell.” She rolled her eyes.

“He does, he keeps trying to goad Steve into telling his buddies. But...well, Steve’s understandably nervous, especially with today’s social climate.” Clint sobered at that, and nodded.

“In that, Bucky’s the same, only he’s got the double hammer of being bi, and he did give me permission to tell you, being a POW, and being used as an enemy combatant. So he keeps quiet normally. Wade, all of us here, Tony, Steve...he sings like a bird, and quite well, I gotta say. But anyone else? He’s practically mute. And he likes it that way; we sign when we go out each week with the dogs, in part to keep their training up to date, and because he really cannot handle the people who constantly try to come up to him and Tank, even with Tank wearing his vest.”

She sighed, taking a sip of her tea, and played with a bit of crust, staring at it morosely. Clint let her think, and finished off his food, making sure to top off the water in both animals’ dishes, and put Liho’s unfinished food up on the fridge so that Lucky couldn’t polish it off. He stayed standing while the pretty black cat bounced from table to his shoulders to the fridge, then sat back down, working on his chips now, and she sighed again.

“You’re right. I wish you weren’t, but you’re right. It’s the only way to keep his panicking at a low; I’m guessing you guys go to the back forty to avoid everyone too?”

“Damn right I do. No one ever uses the range but me, and I told Bucky that when he gets approved for a weapons license again, he’s welcome to join me for some sharpshooting.” She gave him a swift, dangerous look at that, and he held up a hand in entreaty. “In all fairness, right now he’s said no, he doesn’t feel ready. And I’m not pushing that. However, I am rather proud that he’s found himself a job.”

She perked up at that, and they spent the next half-hour of their lunch talking about the little things. Finally, it was time to let Sam and Sharon take their lunches, and he went back to his office to prep for his newest client. This was another call-in; he had a name but no face, though Darcy had assured him that the guy was entirely on his own this time, no worried mom-friend to hover...

Couldn’t be too bad, right?

* * *

 

Tony stared at the resounding asshole that had so smugly slammed his (still open) to-go cup on the counter, and his left eye started to twitch ever so slightly. He didn’t often work later in the day, but every great job had its fair share of really fucking shitty shifts, and he’d pulled the shittiest today. He was three am to four pm, and it was just after the lunch rush now, and this colossal dickweasel had had the sheer nerve to do the stupidest goddamn thing on the planet...all because he wanted “two shots of espresso, I said two!”

Tony refrained from throttling him out of sheer force of will, and with a forced, dangerous smile, took the drink, dumped it, and started anew...but instead of the two shots he demanded, Tony made it with six. Six glorious, incredibly potent, home-ground shots. His smile turned into a shit-eating grin as the guy vanished out the door, and Phil slowly turned around (having come out of the back with the commotion), and gave him that look.

“...You didn’t.”

“I fuckin’ did. Dumbass deserved it.”

“And if that witch’s brew of yours gives him a heart attack?” Tony rolled his eyes and finished cleaning up the mess, making a face at the nasty mixture of cream and sugar that he’d filled it with prior to giving it a taste.

“It won’t, because A: it was an extra large, two: it was cut half with decaf and heavy cream, and fish: he’ll throw it up before all that caffeine has a chance to hit his brain.” Phil blinked, and sighed.

“...Why don’t you just do normal numerical or alphabetical counting?”

“Because it’s boring and everyone thinks the word fish is funny as hell. Besides, I got it from your ex-boyfriend, so this is all on you for not nipping it in the bud before.” Tony grinned as Phil retreated with a groan, and finally let some of his exhaustion seep out, feeling all his energy drain away. God, he was so tired...but Steve was coming to pick him up, and with Bucky out of the house tonight with a game of poker with all their buddies, Tony didn’t have to play the ‘friend’.

Not that he minded; he personally felt that Bucky probably knew, but Steve was so fucking scared that Tony couldn’t bear to add to that torment in any other way. So, he sucked it up and played the new friend...but not, thankfully, tonight. According to Steve, Bucky probably wouldn’t be back till daylight; he’d had plans to spend the night with all his old buds, then go on to his new job as an overnight security guard. And Tony was off in the morning...

The sweet thought of waking up with nothing but a big blond wrapped around him was enough to sustain Tony till three forty-five, when Maria and Steve both walked in the door, and Tony tossed her his apron, flopping himself into Steve’s arms. Not a moment later, he was cradled against that big warm chest, eyelids already drooping, and endured Maria’s jibes with far less than half his normal wit. Steve made sure his coat was tucked around him, and brought his hand up long enough to press the thumbprint for his clock out, and away they went.

By the time Tony had regained some of his energy, Steve had pulled his little Jeep into the drive and they were in front of the nice building that his boyfriend had been living in for the last few years. It was rather pleasantly rundown; not so much so that it was a hazard, but you could tell that some of the less important things, like the chipped paint and the wild expanse of ivy crawling up the brickwork, weren’t going to get taken care of the way the immaculate roof and sidewalk were.

It was a charming little place in the heart of the neighborhood, and Tony had to close his eyes and just breathe as the last of the fall flowers ghosted over his senses. Soon enough, it was Mrs. Moretti’s incredible food that wafted throughout the place, but Steve hardly paused, carrying him straight up to the seventh floor and unlocking the door with a skill, not even letting Tony drop a bit. Five minutes later, the door was locked, his shoes had been tugged off, and Tony was being laid on the bed, his battered jeans off and tucked in.

Steve took only enough time to get a glass of water set on the table for after they woke up, stripping off as he went, and finally joined his boyfriend in the bed, tucking him back against his chest with a soft purr. Tony, for his part, once he was finally able to relax...sleep struck him like a car, and he didn’t wake up till almost seven. It was the most glorious nap he'd had in weeks.

* * *

 

Bucky smiled a little as Tank leaned more against his legs; the big dog didn’t like a lot of people crowding around, less so when they all wanted to pet him. Bucky had finally made a large sign for his vest on both sides, and several people tried to admonish him whenever Tank gave a warning growl or they read the sign. What was it with idiots and thinking that ‘one pet wouldn’t hurt?’ Aside from the fact that besides Steve, Tony, a handful of others, and himself, Tank was about as antisocial as the most aloof cat.

It wasn’t exactly normal for his breed, but then again, his breed was a mixture of a dozen different forms of dog with a lot of wolf thrown in, so ‘normal’ was hardly a baseline anymore. And Bucky didn’t really care anyway, because his dog was his, not the world’s; he didn’t really care if someone got pissy because they couldn’t pet the ‘tame wolf’ or their kid might get nipped at.

He had all the registration, all of Tank’s shots, and more than a handful of witnesses to testify that Tank was not an animal that was carefree and loved everyone; he was an animal with a mission, and that mission was and would remain Bucky. He cuddled his human, loved on him and licked him, played with him, everything that they both needed, and frankly, Bucky didn’t really care that Tank didn’t like other people, or dogs. He liked Bucky, and he was friendly to Bucky’s friends, so that was good enough for him...

And now they were leaving the subway, much to Tank’s obvious relief, and wandering down along the Potomac, Bucky with his hands in his coat and Tank adoring the light snow falling. He was on a leash, but it was more a technical legality than anything; there was nothing on the planet that was going to keep that dog secured if he didn’t want to be. They wandered over to the various memorials as the wind picked up, and found a quiet little spot to sit down by the Vietnam Memorial.

Bucky’s father and two uncles were up there, immortalized in the heart of the nation they’d loved and on the mantle back home...And not for the first time, he wondered if it was time to call his mother and let her know that he’d come home. He wanted to, sure...but...well, things had been awful strained when he and Steve had been shipped out, and he just...he didn’t know if his mother and sisters could handle it. Or if they’d even want to.

Steve was certain they would. Of course, Steve was certain about a good many things, and Bucky had enough experience both in the real world, and with his best friend, to know that his ‘certainty’ wasn’t always right. And Bucky did not want to be on the receiving end yet again. He sighed a little, grateful that the wind had whipped it away, and gave Tank a rub, fingers working through his mane.

The big furball’s jaw dropped and his tongue lolled out, hot breath steaming in the air as he leaned back, all nice and warm for his human’s legs as he rumbled away, and Bucky just chuckled. Another couple of hours, and even his impressive tolerance for the cold was being tested, while Tank, of course, was just fine with his big heavy winter coat. The walk back home, Bucky decided to avoid the subway; it meant a little more cold for him, but the dog was much happier by the time they finally came up to the apartment.

The lights were on inside; hardly a surprise, Steve was due home early, and they went up without a single thought to the contrary. He wandered into the kitchen, hanging up his coat and tossing his keys in the bowl...and noticed that the living room had one extra person...and that person was Tony Stark. Tony Stark, who was rather happily naked, bent over their couch...by no other than Steve. Whose jeans were down around his ankles.

Bucky just grinned.

“About fuckin’ time, Rogers. I’m going down to the VA; text me later and make sure you clean up~!” Happy for another walk, he and Tank bolted out the door...when Tony finally spoke up, sounding distinctly impatient through the door.

“Well, keep going, Steve!” Bucky broke down laughing all the way to the VA.

* * *

 

“...that bad earlier?” Clint looked up from his arms, his face a stony mask, and Tasha sighed, setting down the dinner for the two of them and their two coffees. No booze, of course; too many issues with alcoholism for a lot of vets, and they liked taking meals here anyway. It gave them all a chance to keep the connection strong with their primary patient base, and sometimes it was easier to come down here after a long day rather than home...

He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands together and settled his thoughts.

“...bad doesn’t begin to describe it, Tasha. This guy...this guy doesn’t need our help. He needs an asylum. He’s been beating the fuck out of his wife and blaming her for all of his mental issues.” She stared, absolutely horrified, and Clint sighed. “I called the cops, reported all the abuse. Fuck him. He beat his kids, beat her when she tried to protect them...fuck the confidentiality, I told them everything.”

He took a moment to eat, Tasha stewing in anger and horror beside him, barely tasting it, but making the effort anyway. She picked at hers. It wasn’t the worst of the horrors she’d seen, by no means, but it still sickened her every time she heard it. He decided then that he’d spare her the comments the son of a bitch had made, gloating about how he slapped and punched and yanked her hair...

She had more than enough of that in her childhood.

“...I’m glad. I’m very, very glad that you exposed him. Let me guess, this was court-ordered?”

“Only because he wanted to be cleared to get a firearm.” She stared now, face going pale, and he swallowed the bile building up, mourning the burger. “That won’t be happening now. Don’t worry. I made that point crystal clear to Nate.” She couldn’t help the smile at that.

“Good. Okay...As much as I love you, you are going to have to let this go before it eats you alive. I know you, Clint.” He sighed a little, and smiled faintly, settling with his coffee and scrubbing a hand over his chin. Wincing at the three days of growth on his beard, he pushed his glasses up a little more and drained his cup.

“Alright. You’re right...and I'm sorry, I just...I'm not hungry right now..."

"Neither am I...wanna wrap it up and take it home to the dog?"

"Good idea. Thanks for not putting cheese on; he'll like the veggies, but I do not need to deal with the gas."

"Neither do I, or do you forget that I recruited him for tomorrow morning?" He grinned a little, giving her a jaunty salute, when he caught sight of a very welcome figure walking in the door. Bucky and Tank picked up their dinners, Tank looking rather happier than normal, but then, this was the kind of weather he loved most, that he'd been bred for. And Bucky...well, he was more than a sight for very sore eyes. He was smiling, laughing a little in his quiet way as he picked up his tray and the hot cocoa he preferred, and damn if Clint wasn't a little bit more in love now.

"...I know we have the whole thing about not dating clients..."

"...Yeah. It's alright. A guy can dream..." Regardless, Clint still motioned him over when Bucky caught sight of the two of them, and they both made room as Clint boxed up his meal in the container he'd used for his lunch earlier that day, settling it back in his bag. Natasha just chuckled as Tank snuggled up to her legs, rumbling as he tucked into his dry meal, Bucky rolling his eyes as he set down the water bowl.

"Sorry about that, he's been extra snuggly today...so, how are you guys doing?"

"We're good, thank you. Clint, I need another dose of caffeine before I crash, you want another cup?"

"Yes please, thanks." As she went off to chat up the coffee line, he shifted things around so that they all three had room, earning himself a warm smile from Bucky. "So, what're you two up to tonight? I thought you were just going to stay home?" The other man gave him a smirk, and Clint felt his grin stretch wider. _Oooh, this is gonna be good._

"I thought I'd give Steve and Tony time to actually enjoy their evening without interference...that, and I walked in on them bent over the couch." Clint couldn't stop the belly laugh at that.

"Damn, that's great! About damn time those two got together!"

"Amen to that. Though, judging from the card on the counter, I'd say they've been together about a year." Natasha returned with coffee then, and they gave her the rundown, making her laugh so hard she was almost in tears. They called it a night a few hours later as the VA closed up for the night. Natasha offered to drive him and Tank home as they filed out the door, and after a round of hugs (and doggy kisses), they watched Bucky head up the stairs.

Their own drive home was quiet, a comfortable silence they both enjoyed, and home was no less quiet. It was late after all, and while Clint was off the next day, she wasn't, so they both went to bed. Lucky was curled up on the foot of his bed when he tucked himself under the covers, already fast asleep, and Clint took care not to wake him; he wasn't a young dog anymore, and he needed his rest just as surely as the rest of them. Besides...the soft sound of his breathing was more than enough, coupled with the memory of Bucky's smile, to send him right to sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Tony shivered as he pushed the cart through the dinky little corner grocery; the old place had been around since Steve's parents had been kids, evidently, and it looked it; drafty, with shelving from the fifties and linoleum so worn and faded that it was an indeterminate cream color. But the food was good, and local, the people were friendly, and the little old lady who ran it still remembered Steve and all of his hi-jinks.

Tony had been over the moon when she'd offered to write it all down for him; he pulled out his phone to record it instead, flirting with her shamelessly in his rusty Italian. He finished up his list with a happy smile, pulling on his gloves before he took up the two big cloth bags. Steve was adorably hipster...only, he was the real all-organic ideal. In any case, Tony didn't mind it so much so long as he got to have his coffee...free trade, of course.

Outside, the snow was falling still, soft and heavy between every building, and Tony buttoned up his coat a little higher as he started the long walk back home. Steve had gotten them a little apartment right in the middle of his old neighborhood, and he was out right now getting them a pretty Christmas tree. Ordinarily, Tony spent his Christmases with Fury, Phil and the rest at the shop, having a nice little dinner after they'd shut down...but this year, everyone was doing something new and different.

May and Andrew were relaxing down in the Caribbean, Natasha and Maria were visiting Prague, and Fury was spending time with his ailing mother...Phil was home alone, and that bothered Tony. He contemplated calling Clint and just asking him to go see his ex-boyfriend, since he, Sam, and Logan were the only ones staying in town for Christmas with Bucky and a few of the other patients they had that might need a little extra help during the holidays...

Maybe if Clint and Phil just...talked? He sighed a little as his feet and face froze up, and felt kinda bad for Bucky. But Phil loved Clint so much, and Clint loved...had loved, him. And Bucky wasn't ready for a relationship, he'd said so himself, numerous times, despite Steve's attempts to the contrary...Tony just shook his head a little to himself, laughing softly under his breath.

He really did feel for Bucky; it couldn't be easy politely refusing his best friend's constant set ups and blind dates. Interestingly enough, Steve had been rather equal in who he'd picked out for Bucky, a perfect mixture of men and women. And Bucky had been rather patient throughout the whole process, but Tony was glad he'd managed to convince Steve to stop.

Bucky would find a special someone on his own time...or he wouldn't, and that was okay too. Tony had absolutely no problem helping Bucky get back on his feet if he decided that he was done with the security business...and hell, maybe he'd even join Clint and the rest. He personally thought that'd be pretty cool; all of their work was awesome, and he knew, as well as Bucky already fit in as a patient that he'd be welcome as a fellow counselor.

But, those were just musings and Tony smiled a little as he made his way up the steps to their little home away from home. He'd offered to pay for it; lord knew he had more than enough money to cover rent, but Steve had insisted, and since his own job was pretty damned high paying, well...Tony didn't mind. After all, partners took turns taking care of one another, right? Maybe his dad hadn't been all that great about that with his mom, but Tony liked to think that he'd learned from those mistakes.

He damn near melted when he opened the door to the apartment; warmth and cinnamon wrapped around him like a cloak, and he toed off his boots before setting the groceries on the counter. Dinner was a comfortable, quiet affair; he chopped potatoes and onions and put them on to simmer before he sliced open the loaf of bread he'd bought, layering butter and a little garlic salt in each incision as the oven warmed. He'd let it bake while the soup cooked, and take a break while he waited for Steve to come home...

Double checking his temps, Tony peeled out of his coat and long-sleeved shirt, and wandered back to the bedroom to grab the hamper and get laundry going, humming to himself as he did the housework. Bathroom cleaned, food checked, laundry washed and thrown in the dryer...Tony didn't even realize that Steve had returned from visiting his mother and Bucky's family until those big warm arms had wrapped around his waist, gently tugging him back into his chest.

"...If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually liked doing housework." Tony wrinkled his nose and tipped his head back at the blond, glaring into those annoyingly gorgeous blue eyes and oh, he smelled glorious, like pine needles and snow.

"Shit like that does not get you laid, Rogers. Now go stir the damn soup and check the bread; I need to pee." He just laughed and let him go, and soon enough they were both curled up together, watching the news and eating on the couch. As the program shifted to a mindless reality show, Steve gathered up their dishes and set to washing everything as Tony brewed them both some coffee from his fancy machine.

"So, how's Mom?"

"Doing really well! The treatments are finally showing some results, and she's feeling amazing nearly every day now." Tony smiled up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Steve's happy grin made his stomach flip with butterflies, just like the first time they'd met...

"...God, you're pretty when you smile like that." Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, taking up his large, chipped mug while Tony wrapped his hands around his own elegant cup. He studied the differences with a fond eye, and shifted around the counter to nuzzle up to his big snuggly boyfriend.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, my handsome dork." Tony grinned a little, running his free hand up under Steve's shirt, and teased a little along his waistband.

"What if I wanna just get into your pants?" Steve's chuckle rumbled through his chest, and Tony nibbled his ear, leaning in even closer.

"All you had to do was ask, beautiful..."

* * *

 

"Alright, Luck, let's see here...groceries, check, gas in the truck, check...coffee supplies for the office, check. Now we just need to head home and change for tonight." Lucky rolled his eye at Clint, and the blond grinned. "Aw, c'mon buddy, you get to pal around with Tank for a few hours while Bucky and I awkwardly flirt! It's your favorite pastime!" He got a grumpy woof in return, and shifted things around so that Lucky could lay his old bones down for a bit.

Clint smiled as Lucky snuggled down into his well-worn old blanket, and he set the radio to some classic rock, turned down low so that the drive back home was relaxing. He was...more than a little nervous about tonight; dinner had gone well for their first date, and Clint had offered Bucky a nice dinner at his place when things had been a little...anxiety inducing at the restaurant, and as they pulled into the empty parking lot, Clint made sure to leave enough room for Bucky's motorcycle.

Lucky grumbled as Clint coaxed him out with the groceries, and they both went up the stairs, the big mutt curling up in his bed while his human worked on a nice, hearty dinner of meaty chili and cornbread. As the pot simmered away, Clint spruced up the living room and bathroom, feeling a little glad that Bucky was coming over...He glanced at the graceful little potted tree they'd put in the corner early in December, and sighed.

"Luck, I miss Phil. I really, really care about Bucky, but I miss Phil..." That familiar, scarred wet nose touched his arm, and Clint slid down from the couch to let Lucky crawl half into his lap. "...Yeah...I miss his smile, I miss his laugh...the dry sarcasm and those damn arms of his, and yeah, I miss his ass. That was a very cute ass." Lucky nuzzled his cheek, and Clint felt the tightness around his heart lessen, just a little bit. "...But I wanna give Bucky a chance. Because he deserves it, and...well...fuck it, I deserve it too."

A soft woof sounded in his ear, and Clint laughed a little bit, stroking Lucky's ruff, and just held the old dog just a little bit longer, tucking him carefully close as he dried his eyes in that warm fur. Christmas had been a good day, it really had, but everyone now was visiting friends and family, and he hadn't had a problem waiting for his and Bucky's second date...but man, it had been another lonely holiday. At least his new aids were far more comfortable now; he hardly knew that he was wearing them now. And no more damn static.

"Thanks buddy...alright...go lay back down, they'll be here soon." He got himself up with a groan and a crack from his bad knee, and Lucky limped back to his bed, curling up while Clint checked on the chili, and set out all the fixings to make a proper bowl...And he grinned when the knock at the door sounded, complete with a faint curse from Bucky. Probably Tank smelling Lucky and Liho...He went right to the door and opened it, laughing as he backed up.

"Hey guys, sorry about that..."  
  
"Not a problem... _Tank, settle the fuck down, dog_...I'm sorry, he's a bit excited, he was cooped up all shift. Do you mind if I let him run a bit?"

"Go right ahead! Actually, want me to play with him? Food's ready, so you can go grab yourself a bowl while I get him wound down?" Bucky blushed, and sighed a little.

"...Yes please. I'm sorry..." Daring, Clint gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, smiling happily.

"Don't you worry about it. Long shift?" He asked as he grabbed the basket of dog toys and started playing toss-and-catch with Tank, who was more than happy with the big open living room and _hooman with toys!_ Clint grinned as he listened to Bucky loading up one of his nice big ice cream bowls and started bouncing a tennis ball off his favorite indoor archery target, with finally had the effect of wearing down Tank.

"God, you wouldn't believe some of the dumbasses we had tonight...one of the executives had a damn party this afternoon, full of rich babies. Rich, drunk babies. So, so many idiots we had to escort out..." Bucky came out of the kitchen with a loaded bowl, and started to toe his shoes off, before pausing with another blush. Clint forestalled the question and lifted his own socked foot, grinning.

"Take off your shoes, Barnes, you know for a fact that I wear slippers at work half the time."

"Well...yeah...but this is your house, and I didn't want to assume..."

"Assume away, I don't care. Neither does anyone else who lives here. We're here to be comfortable."

"...You're wonderful." Clint grinned a little, and led Tank, who was panting happily now, over to the guest water bowl and food he'd set out opposite of Lucky's, and laid out a big warm old blanket for the wolfdog to settle down in. "Oh, thank you so much..."

"Well, Tank's just as much of a guest as you are! And it's not fair that he doesn't get the same amenities." The gratitude in his eyes was something that Clint cherished as he picked up the toys (with help from Tank; he got a treat for that), then washed his hands and made up his own bowl. "Good boy, Tank."

"God, that's so awesome of you...oh, he stole a ball..."

"It's perfectly fine, neither of us minds. How's the grub?" Bucky groaned happily, and Clint felt his grin split his face. "That bad?"

"That good! My god, your chili is fantastic. Where'd you learn how to cook like that?" Clint opened his mouth to answer, and felt his heart plummet. Phil.

"...From an ex. He, uh....was a great guy, taught me so so very much about...well, a lot of things." Bucky's eyes softened, and he laid a hand over Clint's, giving him a very gentle squeeze.

"...Bad break up?"

"...We were part of the same unit. Special Forces, you know? He was actually our CO's second in command, which, hah, never really is a good idea? But I loved him. And...well, I'm pretty sure at first, he loved me. I don't about the end, because I left the missions and the killing as a sniper because I wanted my GED, I wanted to go to college...I wanted to help people, especially my fellow vets. And he didn't want me to leave. So I walked out on him, got my discharge, and wound up with the others after a rough start."

"...And you still love him." Clint froze, eyes wide, and he dropped his head, trying so hard to control his emotions, and keep his breathing even and slow. _Oh fuck, oh fuck, no, Bucky, no, please don't take this the wrong way. Please give me a chance..._

"No, no, I-"

"Clint." Bucky's eyes, soft and blue and sweet, and gentle smile unknotted the ball of snakes in his stomach a little, but he was still tense as hell. "Clint, honey...It's okay that you still love him. That says so, so much about you, you know that? You are such a loving, wonderful, and amazing man, who does so much, for so many people. I'm okay with that."

"...You are?"

"I am. And if we don't work out as a couple, then I would very much like to stay your friend. Okay?" He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"...Okay. I want you to stay my friend too. I really do. I have some really awesome friends, I do...but I'll be absolutely honest...I'm always lookin' for more." He gave him a tentative smile, and Bucky's in return felt like a ray of sunshine. "But I'll be honest. I want to try and make this work. I do. I feel so...happy with you. I really like you, and I want to kiss and hold and cuddle you."

"Then come cuddle up, Barton; you look like you could use a kiss and a hug." Clint couldn't help but laugh, cuddling up close as Bucky tucked him into the taller man's chest, letting him nuzzle into the flannel dress shirt. "See? You fit quite nicely."

"Tall fucker."

"You're no slouch yourself!"

"Yeah, but you've got, what, six inches on me?"

"Yeah, but you're broader."

"...Fair point, it's all the archery."

"Which is stupid hot, gotta say." Clint blushed all the way to the roots of his hair, and buried his face in Bucky's chest.

"...No way."

"Yes way. Trust me, watching you fire a bow shirtless, with just your armguards and gloves and those tight jeans? Jesus. Trust me when I say this, I very nearly jumped your bones that day we went out." Clint went scarlet.

"Oh..."

"Mmhmm. So trust me, the attraction's on this side too, handsome. I don't know that I'm up for sex right yet..."

"...I'm not either, I gotta admit. But...I'd really like to kiss you." He lifted his head, well aware that his face was still bright red...Bucky just grinned.

"Y'know, you're really cute when you blush." Clint rolled his eyes, then pushed up a little and kissed him square on the lips, reveling in the warmth as Bucky kissed him back, before he pulled away for one moment.

"...Shut the hell up, Barnes." Bucky just threw back his head and laughed, before pulling him into another long, perfect kiss.

* * *

  
  
"...Phil?" Nick Fury unlocked the door to Phil's apartment and sighed at the wafting fumes from the half-dozen beer bottles he spied on the kitchen counter, and he let himself in. He did feel better for hearing the shower run, and after making a quick clean up of the living room and kitchen, he took out the trash and settled on the couch, popping the cap off a fresh bottle.

"...You know, you make a pretty good maid, Nick. And not half bad lookin' either." Fury flipped him off and took another swig as Phil wandered into the living room, shirtless in just his pajama pants. He just shrugged and went to grab another beer, moderating it with a sandwich as he came back, plopping on the opposite end of the couch. "Hey, just sayin'."

"Hilarious, Cheese. Still moping over your cute blonde?"

"...Just lonely, Nick. You know that."

"Yeah, that I do. You, sir, you need to get laid." Phil snorted as he bit into the ham and provolone on wheat, and finished his bite before he answered.

"Oh, because that's going to happen, Nick. Because a nearly fifty-year-old, drab former Ranger with some balding on top is the local gay bar's hottest item."

"You never know, some guys like an older man. Clint did." Phil gave him a look, and Nick just rolled his eyes. "Well, he did! Hell, I'm pretty sure he still does."

"Oh, I highly doubt that." Fury just chuckled and took another long swig.

"You never know, Phil..."

"I do. I...Look, I don't wanna go into this, okay? I fucked up, big time, and I miss him. A lot. But I am heartily tired of having this goddamn conversation with people. Especially people who think 'oh, it's just an easy fix!' It's goddamn not. It was a life-changer of an event, and it's all. My. Fault. And when I came around here, and I tried to talk to him about it...well, I fucked up that too."

"...Well, why'd you do it?" Phil blinked, and Fury just smiled. "No one's asked you that, have they? I was there, but I don't know the whole story, and I've never pretended to, I just know that shit went down, and he cut his ties, and you came back to base."

"...No. No, they...never do. I mean, my reasons aren't good, but..."

"Well, I'm askin' now. Tell me why you did it." Phil sighed, setting his plate on the battered old coffee table and leaned forward, wringing his hands a little.

"...I don't know why I said what I said. I really don't. It was the stupidest damn slip of the tongue that I could have ever spouted. I knew Clint was tired of being a sniper, that he didn't want to keep adding more and more blood on his hands. He wanted a civilian life, and frankly, he'd never had it, not since he was a little boy. But...I was scared. Me, a grown ass man, and I was scared to change. And I...fuck, Nick, I belittled him. Just like his brother. Just like his father. I belittled him and laughed at him for wanting to get his GED, because he'd dropped out of school in what, the fourth grade?

"I laughed at him for wanting a college degree. The memory makes me sick now, made me sick afterwards too, but I couldn't shut the fuck up and apologize then, when the wounds were so newly inflicted. I kept bringing up instances where without having gone on to be an agent, he'd probably have been on the streets, or still with the circus, or struggling to survive. I was cruel, Nick, I was a heartless fucking bastard...And when he stood up to me, and told me, on no uncertain terms, that I was full of shit...That's when I realized what I'd done.

"I have no idea if it was temporary insanity, or some bullshit in my own head, but God, I...what I did was unforgivable. I might not have hurt his body, but I harmed his soul, his heart. And that bleeds sometimes just as badly as any knife-wound. And all along, I thought I was helping... Nick...when I came here, and we first talked again, it was very, very obvious that Clint was not going to take me back. And that he's working on moving on. I love him, but he doesn't love me. And I have to live with the fact that I ruined the _best_ goddamn thing I've ever had in my whole life, all because I didn't care about what mattered most to him."

Phil's voice cracked finally, the tears falling hot and thick, and he hardly moved as Nick gingerly laid a hand on his shoulder, sniffling as he fought to contain the tears. It burned, talking about the whole mess, and he ached with missing Clint. He wanted to find his place, go over there and fall on his knees, begging for forgiveness...and he knew, he knew full well that Clint would pick him up, awkwardly give him a glass of water, tell him he was forgiven, and politely show him the door.

Because that was Clint now; he'd grown into a truly incredible middle-aged man, scarred but standing tall in the face of whatever the world might throw at him. And Clint didn't live alone; his fellow therapists would probably either talk to Phil afterwards, or lecture him. Both of which he deserved, he knew that...but what he wouldn't give for those gorgeous blue eyes to turn his way again.

"...Phil...There's not much I can say to that. But I can say this; maybe it's time you moved on too. If he has, then I think it's wise to put the pain, the grief, and yes, the blame, behind you. What's done is done; if you think it can't really be unraveled, then it's time to set it behind you and move forward. If you think it might stand a chance...well, it can't hurt to talk to a proper therapist, and get their input. Or even if it can't be, talking doesn't hurt. Bottling it all up, though, that does." He winced, then sighed, and Nick gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

"...I don't want to see you hurting anymore, Cheese. I don't. I'd very much like to see you happy again. But I don't know how to help you get there. And I don't have the right weapons to battle your depression and pain. So, why don't we ask around, and see if we can't find someone who does?" Phil swallows, wincing at the lump in his throat, but nodded, slowly, shakily.

"...Alright. Alright. Thank you, Nick. Thank you. I...shit, how can I repay you? I owe you so much..."

"...Pay it forward, Cheese. Just pay it forward, and help someone else, someday. That's all I'll ever ask of anyone."


End file.
